14. A Small Price
Chapter fourteen
A Small Price
The coastal wind whipped through the alley behind The Salty Crumb.
It sliced straight through my thin dress shirt.
The fabric was soaked with lukewarm dishwater and sweat, clinging to my ribs like a sheet of ice.
I stood on the loading dock, staring at the empty street corner at the end of the block.
Wren had disappeared around the corner minutes ago, walking shoulder-to-shoulder with Silas.
My boots remained rooted to the ground. The city was hours away, and driving back to the penthouse meant leaving my pregnant wife exposed in this unpredictable town.
Booking a heated hotel down the highway carried the exact same risk.
I raised the back of my hand and wiped a smear of rancid grease from my forehead.
The raw blisters on my knuckles stung in the biting air, a sharp reminder of the past four hours.
A block of yellow light spilled out from the kitchen, illuminating the icy concrete at my feet. Gemma stood in the open doorway. She gripped a rolling pin, her flour-dusted apron tied tight around her waist. She leveled it directly at my chest, watching my every move.
“Stand back from the threshold, Cassian,” Gemma warned. “I’m locking up.”
I forced myself to swallow the instinct to issue a corporate threat.
A few weeks ago, I would have bought this storefront out from under her just to fire her on the spot.
Tonight, a working-class baker held absolute authority over my existence.
If I insulted her, she would lock me out of this kitchen forever.
I kept my mouth shut and endured the silence.
“We are officially closed for the night, Cassian,” Gemma said. She tossed my abandoned suit jacket onto the frozen pavement, then pointed the rolling pin down the dark street. “Get off my loading dock before I call the local cops for trespassing.”
The threat of police intervention meant nothing to me.
The real danger was Gemma picking up a phone to tell Wren I was causing a scene.
I lowered my battered hands, scooped my jacket off the asphalt, and stepped backward into the shadows.
The sour stench of burnt sugar and old cooking oil radiated from my ruined clothes.
“I finished the grease traps and scraped the ovens,” I said. “Just tell me she gets home safely in this weather.”
Gemma did not lower her weapon. She looked at my torn skin, her expression hardening into an unforgiving line. The cold wind howled down the alley, snapping her apron strings around her knees, but she refused to step aside.
“Silas is walking her right now, and he knows exactly how to protect her,” Gemma said. “She doesn’t need you checking up on her anymore.”
She retreated into the kitchen and pulled the door shut, the deadbolt instantly sliding into place.
The yellow glow vanished from the pavement.
I stood alone in the dark, shivering as the coastal frost bit into my damp skin.
Silas was keeping her safe in ways I had failed to, and I had no choice but to let him do it.
I turned my back on the locked building and started the freezing trek down the alleyway toward the main street.
I stepped out of the shadows. The salted ice crunched under the soles of my shoes, the only sound cutting through the coastal wind.
I reached the SUV parked across from the storefront and unlocked it.
I climbed into the driver’s seat, slamming the door shut against the freezing air.
The interior offered no warmth, the temperature inside the cabin matching the bitter street.
I pushed the ignition button. The engine turned over with a low hum, the dashboard casting a pale blue glow across my raw knuckles.
I put the vehicle in drive and eased down the street.
I navigated the quiet, working-class neighborhood, scanning the faded facades until I spotted the walk-up she and Silas had entered.
I pulled the car against the curb directly across from Silas’s building and shifted into park.
I left the engine idling, desperate for the heater to catch. I leaned forward, pressing my blistered palms hard against the freezing wheel. I stared up at the fourth-floor windows, searching the glass.
“Just get inside,” I muttered to the empty cabin.
A moment later, a square of yellow light flickered on behind the fourth-floor glass.
I exhaled, the sight of the glowing window steadying me.
She was out of the wind. She was behind a locked door.
I watched the faint silhouette move across the illuminated blinds, tracking her slow, exhausted pacing until she finally stopped.
I leaned back against the headrest, content to wait in the idling vehicle for the rest of the night. A sharp rap against the driver-side glass broke the quiet.
I turned my head. A local police officer stood on the sidewalk, holding a flashlight near the window frame.
He wore a winter uniform, his breath pluming in the freezing air as he scrutinized the luxury vehicle parked in a run-down neighborhood.
The old reflex flared immediately—roll the window down, drop the Kensington name, and demand the officer leave my property alone.
I looked back up at the glowing window on the fourth floor. Throwing my corporate weight around would draw a police presence to Silas’s building. It would drag my chaos directly to the front door she had just escaped to.
I lowered the glass. The brutal winter wind rushed into the cabin, followed instantly by the blinding glare of a flashlight sweeping directly across my face. I squinted against the beam, keeping my head down and fighting the urge to argue back.
“You can’t idle a vehicle here all night, buddy,” the officer said. “Move the car along before I write you a ticket for loitering.”
I kept my hands visible on the steering wheel. I let the officer treat me like a common vagrant without saying a single word.
“I’m not looking for trouble, Officer,” I said. I pointed straight at the fourth-floor glass. “My wife is in that building, and I’m just making sure she gets to sleep safely.”
The cop followed my gesture, then lowered the flashlight beam toward the dashboard, unimpressed by the explanation.
“Well, make sure she’s safe from somewhere else,” he said. “Turn the engine off immediately, or move the car down the block.”
Enduring the freezing temperatures in a dark car was the least I could do after the months she had spent crying alone in my penthouse.
I nodded at the officer and reached for the ignition.
I shifted into drive and let the vehicle roll fifty yards down the asphalt, putting some distance between the bumper and her front door. I shifted back into park and hit the ignition. The engine died, leaving the cabin completely silent. The dashboard faded to black.
Without the motor running, the climate control cut out. The wind battered the exterior of the car. The temperature inside the cabin remained frozen, locked in with the winter frost outside. I sat rigid in the driver’s seat. I watched the condensation freeze along the lower edges of the windshield.
“Just let it freeze,” I muttered to the dashboard.
Twenty minutes crawled by. My damp shirt froze against my skin. The stale scent of the bakery clung to my sleeves, a lingering reminder of the hours I’d spent scraping that sink. The blisters on my knuckles throbbed. I refused to start the engine back up.
I kept my hands away from the ignition. The freezing vehicle was nothing compared to the isolation I’d put her through while chasing my father’s approval.
A rusted hinge squeaked in the distance. I looked up through the frosted glass. The front door of the walk-up opened, spilling light onto the salted pavement.
Silas stepped out onto the sidewalk. He wore a work coat and worn boots. His broad shoulders blocked the wind as he pulled the door shut behind him.
He scanned the curb. His gaze locked onto the silhouette of my vehicle parked in the shadows. He did not hesitate or look for backup. He stepped into the street, the tread of his boots crushing the road salt, echoing through the empty block as he marched directly toward my door.
I almost shoved the door open before I caught myself.
My instinct was to step onto the street and demand he stay away from my wife.
I squeezed the frozen steering wheel, ignoring the sharp sting in my knuckles to keep from getting out.
I pressed my back against the seat, forcing my body to remain still.
“I’m not looking for a fight.”
Silas stopped outside the driver-side door. He raised a gloved fist and rapped his knuckles against the window. I lowered the glass, pulling the biting winter air straight into the cabin.
“I knew that ridiculous SUV was yours,” Silas said. He leaned forward, bracing a hand on the door frame. “You’re not kicking her door down tonight, so don’t even think about it.”
The sudden urge to pull rank hit me. A week ago, I would have crushed him just to prove a point.
I forced the anger back. I looked at his grease-stained coat and realized this man held all the power here.
Silas was doing exactly what I should have done months ago.
Fighting him would only prove she made the right choice by leaving.
“I’m staying right here in this car,” I said. “Just tell me she got upstairs okay and the heat is actually working.”
Silas scrutinized my torn skin, the shivering set of my shoulders, and the ruined dress shirt without a flinch. He stood his ground, placing himself between my dead SUV and Wren’s front door.
“She’s asleep, and my building is totally secure,” Silas said. He pushed himself off the roof of the vehicle. “Freeze to death out here if you want, but leave her alone.”